mutilated-corps

Surreal is the real When the afterlife and this mortal plane Convene, intertwine, reconcile. Hell, once a daunting abstract vision, Now an abysmal concrete collision. Hooded figures approaching, Their violent leader encroaching Upon our objectionable humanity. The inalienable is alien. We can’t recognize their faces As they descend in droves To the promised gates But the gates are sealed, rusted, And what lies beyond unknowable, Formidable, and unforeseen. The idol on his throne Has lost his illusory valor. Guided by ghosts, the land Is plagued by the cold, Regression, and an overbearing Silence as the world continues To stand still, pa

Reinvent yourself. I see someone who has survived. I see someone who has lived and almost died. I see someone who has endured silently. I see someone who is strong in body and spirit. I see someone who is vulnerable and empathetic. I see someone who is dreamy and romantic at the core. I see someone who sees the good intentions in others’ eyes. I see someone in love. I see someone with direction. I see someone with valid fears and insecurities, But who despite it all, is trying her best To swim, to float, with the current, Arms linked with her familiars. I see someone who has finally awakened. I see my Self.

Safe, sober, and clean, Give me peace, love, and unity, Navigate the dark terrain, I need shelter. I need a guiltless existence. Help me to protect myself from self-fulfilling prophecies. I need kindness. I need ascendence. I bow before the majesty of the Earth’s descendants, Glimmering and basking in their righteousness, Piousness that can only be cultivated by those who believe that Their every word and deed is divine. I implore the universe to embrace me as its heiress. I pray to those before me and those to follow. I pray to myself, one life connected To the human consciousness, To the ethereal delights found in everyday life.

Putrid pustules full of pus popping on the tip of his nose, Breathing in pristine, serene air, Breathing out noxious poison. He hands us the tea, gives us a taste, And we gargle it down with some haste– We dare not seek to offend His Majesty, Who only on one other occasion this year, Has graced us with his unsightly visage– For he’s afraid to show his face– His infected, pox-encrusted face– And his rotting incisors With which he devours his prey So swiftly that one can scarcely recall The poor beast’s existence– To his subjugated subjects, Who for too long have gone without sustenance, All so that he

This year, I am a ghost. I have become the premonition Whose rising threat of demolition You simultaneously crave and fear. You loathe me, try to control me, But I’m no object, nor Figure of flesh. I am your Fatal farewell, a toast to Absent allies and foes, Both of whom, even in death, You shall never reckon with, Let alone beckon, as you Stumble, crestfallen, into the Humorless void of human existence, Of which I claim as my domain.

Ghostly visage, Devil’s mirage, Slithering in disguise, Close your eyes, Don’t feed your Mounting fear, Suppress your howls, At the resounding wails. Darkened chambers, Hear a murmur In a lilting melody. Dry yourself, Hide yourself From your captor’s reveries, From your protesting squeals. No one believes In the spirit Glowering at your toes. Close their eyes, Hide yourself, Don’t want to impose On quiet respectability. All will be revealed in your mourning.

Speak slowly, speak softly, for others might fear you." Nobody, no face, no race, no trace of my material existence.  I am the product of your existential crisis.  There are no supporting characters, no cast, no show.  This is entirely space. In the flesh, I’m a unicorn, bound by superstition and lore.  Selfish strangers with bland parentage and lineage and no true culture of their own will exclaim my name in sanctimonious triumph to justify barbaric imperialism.  They live to speak and breathe my name, but they know nothing about its intonation. I am a state of mind.  I am a “figment of your imagi

Joy is palatable, happiness is likely, Resurgence of wealth—internal and external— Glory is forever, euphoria is a halo And your head its fertile crescent. Stay content, stay grateful, Your body, your mind, your organs, All inspiring movement. So move on and move on, Not drifting like some sailors, Not giving Death the satisfaction Of a reckoning look, His days were once and former, But 'tis our time now— Body, mind, and organs, And we all have feet, We all have feet, To walk upon the soil, To carry us lightly to our homes, And should the law try to ask us Where we belong and where we Make our homes we shall say, "Within, fo

Whenever I close my eyes, It's as if I've fallen to my knees To reclaim the heavens' refrain. Soft angel of disjunction Baring no contusion, The most tentative of verses still dwells. Ditching the camouflage, She dives almost mid-center, Bosoms in her hands, Proclaiming, "I am, I am." I have risen three days since. I have come, I have gone, And I have seen the Fresh young prince. I have cracked, I have wept, I have risen three days since. Whenever I borrow weight, It's as if I've fallen on my back To recall the heavens' guilt. Soft angel of disjunction Baring no contusion, The most tentative of verses still dwells. Ditching the camoufla